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daughter, that went to school in the States — she brought back
several pairs. And there's the commandant's sister that wears shoes on
holidays, and that's about all."
"You are right," agreed the consul. Not more than twenty out of
three thousand ever felt leather on their feet.
Oh, yes; Coralio is just the town for an enterprising shoe store
— that doesn't want to part with its goods. I wonder if old postmaster
is trying to jolly me! He always liked to play jokes. Write him a
letter, Billy, I'll dictate it. We'll jolly him back."
The night programme in Coralio never changed. The
recreations of the people were always the same. They walked about,
barefoot and aimless, speaking in low voices and smoking cigars or
cigarettes. By nine o'clock the streets were almost deserted.
Every night Keough came to the consulate. They usually drank
glass after glass of brandy and before midnight the consul became
sentimental. Then he always told Keough the story of his ended
romance. Each night Keough listened patiently to the story, and was
ready with sympathy.
"But don't you think for a moment" — thus Johnny always
concluded the story — "That I'm sorry about the girl, Billy".
"Not for a minute, my boy."
At this moment Johnny usually fell asleep, and Keough left
him.
In a day or two the letter from the Dalesburg postmaster and its
answer were forgotten by the Coralio friends.
On the 26th of July a fruit steamer entered the Coralio harbour.
An hour later Billy Keough came into the consulate. "Your
shoe-store man has come," he said to Johnny, who was lying in his
hammock. "He came with a stock of good big enough to supply the
continent. They are taking cases to the custom-house now."
Johnny turned and looked astonished.
"Don't tell me," he said, "that anybody was fool enough to take
that letter seriously."
"Four-thousand-dollar stock of goods!" said Keough. "I saw the
old man on the beach."
"Are you telling the truth, Billy?" asked the consul weakly.
"Am I? You must see the gentleman's daughter he brought with
him. A fine-looking girl! His name is Hemstetter," went on Keough.
"He's a — Hello! What's the matter now?"